We Are Nowhere, and It's Now
by Sonata Rapp
Summary: A large portion of Harry's life had been spent leading up to one thing, and now that that thing was done, he had no idea how to move on to the next thing. What even was the next thing? Probably something to do with Malfoy. Eighth year fic.
1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter was a strange young man. Even in the Wizarding World, he was something of an anomaly. Of course this was how Harry would have described himself. The rest of the world had other adjectives for him.

Heroic.

Savior.

Tragic.

Victorious.

Unbalanced.

Champion.

Chosen.

Over and over again, printed in the _Prophet_ and Witch Weekly (mostly the _Prophet_, as Witch Weekly had a whole different set of adjectives for him that he didn't even want to think about) every day until Harry was so tired of looking at his own face that he started to avoid mirrors.

Everyone was so happy, so excited that the war was over, and that they could get on with their lives now. Everyone but Harry, which was where him being strange came in. It wasn't that he wasn't happy that the war was done. That part was fantastic. It was just that now it was over, Harry had no idea what to do with himself.

A large portion of his life had been spent leading up to one thing, and now that that thing was done, he had no idea how to move on to the next thing. What even _was_ the next thing?

His lack of direction played a large part in him being back at Hogwarts this year. Hermione had played a sizeable role as well. She'd convinced Ron that it was for the best if they went back to school, and with both of them going, Harry had figured that being at school would be better than being alone. Besides, even if he didn't know what he wanted to do with himself, having a completed education and his N.E. would probably only be a good thing.

Ron still planned to go into Auror training after they graduated, but Harry wasn't so sure anymore. He was good at hunting down and eliminating Dark magic and the wizards responsible for it, but it no longer held the appeal it once had.

He'd talked it over with Hermione that summer, and she'd just given him a sad smile and told him to give it some time.

"You have to adjust to things being over, Harry," Harry mimicked his friend, tipping his head back and letting the cool breeze blow through his hair.

He was on the Astronomy Tower, looking out over the grounds of the school. He'd come up there with the original intent of doing some homework in the fresh air, but ,as usual, his thoughts kept him distracted. It was still September, though closing in on October quickly, and nothing made any more sense than it had in May.

He shoved his glasses up, and smiled somewhat wistfully as he watched a group of first years chasing each other around below him.

Harry barely remembered what it was like to be so young, and he discovered that he missed it. He'd never lived an expectation free life, and even now that he had done the big thing that was expected of him, there were still people who wanted things.

A loud hoot drew his attention away from the children's game, and he saw his owl, a tawny eagle that had been a birthday gift from Bill and Fleur, come flying towards him. He'd been reluctant to use the bird, it felt too much like he was trying to replace Hedwig, but he knew that he needed an owl.

He held out his arm, wincing when the owl landed on it, talons digging into his skin. "Hey, Hermes," he greeted. "Got something for me, mate?"

Hermes looked down at him with the gleam in his eye that always made Harry feel as though the bird thought he was particularly stupid, and opened his beak, letting a letter fall.

Harry snatched it out of the air before the wind could make off with it, and groaned when he recognized the handwriting.

Speaking of people who wanted things.

The letter was short and to the point, and yet it filled Harry with dread.

_Harry,_  
_I've got a study session after dinner, but do you think we could talk after that? Maybe go for a walk? Let me know._

_Ginny_

Harry fished around in his bag for a self inking quill and scribbled a quick reply on the back on Ginny's letter.

_Okay. I'll be in the common room._

_H._

It wasn't the most eloquent letter he had ever written, but he thought it served its purpose. With a weary sigh, he held the letter up for Hermes to take. The owl seemed to consider him for a moment, then he nipped Harry's ear with something akin to affection, took the letter, and flew off to deliver it to Ginny, wherever she was.

Harry chuckled and shook his head. He knew he was pathetic when his usually grumpy owl was taking pity on him, but he couldn't help it. He'd been avoiding being alone with Ginny for months now. They still hadn't gotten back together officially, and to be honest, Harry wasn't sure he wanted to. Before the war, he had been able to picture a life with Ginny. She was smart, funny, beautiful, everything Harry had always dreamed of having. He'd been able to picture them with a house and kids and all of that. On Friday nights they would go out with Ron and Hermione, and on Sundays they would have lunch at the Burrow. Before the war, it had all been planned out.

Now though, none of that made him feel right.

It wasn't fair of him to string Ginny along like he had been doing, and he intended to tell her how he felt that night.

Not that he was looking forward to it.

He was broken out of his train of thought by someone shouting his name. He looked down and saw Neville standing on the grass waving at him. "Dinner?" his friend called.

Harry was reluctant to leave the solitude of the tower, but he knew Hermione worried when he skipped meals or classes to sit up there alone. So he slung his bag over his shoulder and waved back to Neville. "Meet you there, Nev!"

* * *

Ron plopped down next to Harry on the couch in the Gryffindor common room, letting out a long sigh. "I tell you, Harry," he said, rubbing his face. "I love Hermione, but dating someone who is determined to spend Saturday afternoon in the library takes its toll."

Harry laughed and patted him on the back. Ron and Hermione had been together since the war ended, and he was happy for them. It meant that the trio didn't spend as much time together, but since Harry was prone to staring off into space, and Hermione was prone to giving lectures or looking worried when he did, it wasn't as upsetting as it could have been.

He realized that Ron had just asked him something and blinked, shaking his head to clear it. "Er...what?"

Ron gave him a mildly concerned look. "I asked if you had started on that essay for Charms yet?"

Oh. That. That _had_ been the reason he'd gone up to the Astronomy Tower, hadn't it?

"Not yet," Harry admitted. "I meant to start on it today, but I got distracted."

The look went from mildly concerned to definitely. "Mate...I know you hate when we ask, but are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Ron. Me not being on top of my homework isn't really new."

Ron had to concede that point. "Are you going to work on it tonight?" he wanted to know.

"You know, I reckon whoever said couples start to sound like each other was right," Harry teased before shaking his head. "I'm going for a walk with your sister tonight."

"Really?" Ron asked, eyes clearing. "You guys going to have a talk?"

"Yeah," was all Harry was willing to say. He knew that Ron was hoping for his best mate and his sister to stay together and to be happy, and he hoped that their friendship wouldn't be impacted by what Harry had to do.

It was an hour later when Ginny showed up, hair pulled into a messy bun with a quill jammed through it and her bag dangling from her shoulder. She flicked Ron on the back of the head and gave Harry a bright smile.

"Let me just dump this stuff and get my cloak," she said before dashing up to the girls' dormitories.

Ron rubbed his head and gave Harry a look. "I don't have to give you a lecture about behaving with my sister, do I?"

Harry snorted, shoving down the guilt that welled inside of him when he thought about just how absurd that statement was, given the circumstances. "No, Ron," he said. "I won't lay a hand on her."

It looked like Ron was trying to decide whether that was good or bad, but before he could say anything, Ginny came back down the stairs. "Ready?"

"Er...yeah," Harry replied, getting to his feet awkwardly and shuffling over to the portrait hole. "Let's go."

He walked quickly, partly so that Ginny wouldn't try to hold his hand and partly because he wanted to be outside. He felt stifled behind the castle walls sometimes, and often sought the fresh air when he had the chance.

He took a deep breath when they finally made it onto the grounds, and he paused, waiting for Ginny to catch up.

She stepped beside him and rocked back on her heels, stretching her arms above her head. "Where do you want to walk?" she asked him.

Harry shrugged. The walk had been _her _idea after all. "Round the lake?" he suggested finally.

Ginny nodded, and they set off, neither of them speaking as they walked.

The sun was setting, dusk settling in and making the Black Lake look even darker than usual. There was no sign of the squid or any other students, and Harry breathed deeply, trying to relax. He regarded Ginny in the fading light, taking in her fiery hair and grim expression.

"I'm not going to like what you have to say, am I?" she asked softly.

Harry chewed on his bottom lip before responding. "Gin, I...I love you, I do, but..."

"But not in a way that would make you stay with me?" Ginny finished.

"Er...not really, no," Harry admitted. "I just. Before the war, I wanted nothing else, but now...now I don't know what I want, and it isn't fair for you to have to wait around for me to figure it out. You're smart and beautiful, and any bloke would be lucky to have you."

Ginny lowered her eyes, chuckling sadly. "I knew this was coming, you know," she said. "I thought you would want to get back together over the summer, but when you never said anything...I just knew."

"Ginny, I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have waited this long to say something."

"Do you want someone else?"

"No! No, Gin. I...like I said, I don't know what I want. I'm not really in a relationship kind of place right now. I can't give you what you deserve."

The girl appeared to be mulling that over, a breeze picking up and lifting the loose strands of her hair. "That's fair, I guess," she said finally, meeting Harry's eyes.

He let out a sigh of relief. "I really am sorry."

"I know," Ginny responded. "But it's okay. Just...take care of yourself, alright? People are worried."

"People are _always _worrying about me," Harry returned, rolling his eyes. "Even people I've never met."

Ginny shrugged. "You're a hero, Harry. That's kind of how it works." She stepped closer and kissed him on the cheek. "Can you go away now? I kinda need some time alone."

"Sure, yeah." Harry paused for a moment, pulled her into a hug, and then walked off. He didn't head back up to the castle right away, instead choosing to walk around outside as the dusk darkened to night. Without his conscious permission, he ended up standing below the Astronomy Tower. He always seemed to come back there, to the place where it had all started.

If he closed his eyes he could see them. See Dumbledore standing there looking old and fragile, but still trying to reason. See Snape and Malfoy, wands raised. He could practically hear the words that Malfoy had said that night, and they made him shudder.

He looked up at the tower and his insides lurched when he realised that he _could_ actually see Malfoy at the top. At least Harry thought it was Malfoy. The white blond hair was unmistakable, but he had never associated that defeated posture with the Slytherin.

Malfoy was leaning against the edge, much like Harry did when he was up there, but his head was bowed, his shoulders slumped. The blond had been keeping his head down so far, but a lot of people didn't buy it. They thought he was biding his time. For what no one knew. There was plenty of speculation, of course, but Harry had long since stopped paying attention to that.

Harry wanted nothing more than to stand there and see what Malfoy would do, but it felt like he was intruding on a private moment. Of course that made him remember what had happened the last time he'd burst in on one of Malfoy's moments, and he _really_ didn't want to think about that. So he took one last look at the other boy and then moved to walk back to the castle.

Maybe he'd start on his essay, or some of the other homework he'd been putting off. Maybe he'd just go to bed.

* * *

The next week passed quickly for Harry. To his great relief, it seemed that people were none the wiser about his conversation with Ginny. Perhaps people had already assumed that the two of them had called it quits over the summer and got their gossiping out then. Harry found he didn't much care either way. At least no one was mad at him for what he'd done.

Not even Ron.

Ginny had confided in her brother, and Ron had come to talk to Harry soon after. Harry had been lying on his bed, actually attempting to do the reading for Transfiguration. He'd looked up to see Ron hesitating in the doorway, looking nervous.

"You okay?" he'd asked, sitting up and placing the book face down on the bed.

"Can...can we talk, Harry?" Ron wanted to know.

Harry nodded. He knew how much his friend tried to avoid emotional conversations, and he had a pretty good idea what this one was going to be about. "Ginny's been to see you, then?"

Ron nodded, walking over to sit at the foot of Harry's bed. "Yeah. She...told me what happened."

Harry waited for a moment, but when it became clear that Ron needed some prompting, he poked him. "You here to yell at me?"

"No. I thought about it, but Ginny said it wasn't your fault. She said she understood why you had to do it."

"I thought it was better to end it than lead her on." Harry replied, eyes trained on his blankets.

Ron nodded again, brow furrowed. "Yeah. You're right. I guess I just always thought that you two would be together. Now I've got to get used to her being with some other bloke, I guess."

That pulled a smile from Harry. "I don't think you need to worry, Ron. She's smart and good at handling herself."

"She is, but I'm her brother. It's my job to worry about her."

"Poor Ginny. She's got a lot of brothers."

Ron chuckled, but there was a shadow in his eyes. Harry knew that he was thinking about the one brother that neither he nor Ginny had anymore.

The relief that Harry felt at Ron's acceptance and the fact that the whole school wasn't talking about him (anymore than they already were at least), put him in a better mood than he'd been in for most of the school year so far.

He even managed to make it to every meal and class that week.

* * *

Ever since he'd seen Malfoy at the top of the Astronomy Tower, Harry had been unable to stop thinking about him, and, as always, Draco Malfoy was a perplexing subject of thought. If he were being honest, he'd admit that he'd thought very little about Malfoy in the immediate aftermath of the war. There had been the trials of course, and he'd gone and offered his testimonies, sending Lucius and many of his cohorts to jail. Narcissa had gotten off with six months of house arrest for her part, and Draco had been put on probation.

Once Harry had known that Malfoy wasn't going to prison, he'd moved on, putting his energy into rebuilding and going to funerals. Therefore, it had come as something of a surprise on September first when Malfoy had turned up at King's Cross.

Of all the people returning to Hogwarts to finish their educations, Malfoy was the last person Harry would have expected. Looking back, he realised that of course Malfoy would need his N.E.. A good portion of the Malfoy fortune had been seized, and the heir would probably have to work. He certainly wasn't going to get a job on his name alone anymore, so his brains and skills would have to be taken into account as well.

As September ended and October took its place, Harry found himself watching Malfoy more than anything else. All of a sudden it was as if the Slytherin was everywhere he looked. After weeks of not noticing him, Harry could hardly move without seeing that head of white blond hair.

From what Harry could tell, Malfoy kept to himself for the most part. He still talked to Parkinson, Zabini, Nott, and Goyle, but that seemed to be about it. At meals, when everyone else was laughing and talking, Malfoy sat quietly, eating his food with his head buried in a book. Sometimes he simply stared off into space, and Harry found it harder to look away then.

He noticed all sorts of little things about the other young man. Things like how he no longer wore his hair in that slicked back style he had favoured when they were younger. It was loose now and longer than it had been in years past. When Malfoy was reading, he would often have to pause to blow the blond strands out of his eyes. Those eyes were often ringed by dark shadows that spoke of sleepless nights and a restlessness that Harry thought he could understand. Then there were things like how he never rolled his sleeves up. Ever. Not even in Potions when the humidity and heat in the room made wearing robes and jumpers highly unpleasant. Harry knew why, of course, and he filed the information away.

Unfortunately, Malfoy only added to Harry's list of distracting thoughts. His grades were slipping, and he could practically feel Ron and Hermione becoming more and more concerned about him, but that didn't really deter him. Watching Malfoy was a welcome distraction from his circular thoughts and the looks of expectation and adoration that people always seemed to send his way.

He fell into the habit of lying in his bed with the hangings drawn and his wand tip lit up, watching the little dot labeled 'Draco Malfoy' move around the Marauder's Map. More often than not, the dot was on its way up or down from the Astronomy Tower or sitting alone somewhere in the dungeons. Idly he wondered if Malfoy was lonely, and then wondered why he cared. It would serve the prat right, wouldn't it? Then Harry remembered the look of fear in those grey eyes as they were surrounded by fire, and he felt guilty for thinking like that. Malfoy was only human.

This pattern held firm all the way through to November. Harry woke one morning, cold and somewhat cross. He felt like he might have the beginnings of a cold, but his stash of Pepper Up was all the way in his trunk, and fetching it would require getting out from under his blankets. Somehow it didn't seem worth it. Malfoy had been up on the tower longer than usual last night, and Harry hadn't been able to go to sleep until he'd watched the little dot go back down to where it belonged.

So he was tired and very seriously considering skipping breakfast and his first class. It was only Potions after all.

With a groan, Harry rolled over and pulled the cover up over his head. He could hear the sounds of Ron, Neville, Dean, and Seamus going about their morning routines, laughing and talking. This only seemed to worsen his mood, and he grumbled under his breath, wanting them to shut up and get out so he could go back to sleep.

Unfortunately, Ron chose that exact moment to walk over and clear his throat. "Er...Harry? You coming to breakfast, mate?"

"No," Harry said, voice muffled by the blanket around his face.

"Okay. You want me to bring you something?"

"No."

"Are...are you okay? It's just that you've seemed off lately, and..."

"For fuck's sake, Ron!" Harry shouted. "Can't you just sod off? I don't want to talk to you."

It would have been better if Ron had yelled back at him, but he didn't. He just stood there for a second and then turned to walk out. Harry thought about calling after his friend and apologizing, but he didn't. He'd do it when he felt a little less like hexing the next person who spoke to him.

Harry slept through the morning, waking a little before lunchtime and dragging himself out of bed. He took a shower and got dressed, finally fishing the Pepper Up from his trunk and drinking it. The potion took away the congested, achy feeling he'd had in his head when he woke up, but he was still in a bad mood. He felt even worse about yelling at Ron, and he flopped back onto the bed, deciding that the rest of the day could just bugger off.

He was just contemplating going back to sleep when the door to the room opened and Hermione marched in looking upset.

Fuck.

"Harry James Potter, _what_ is the matter with you?"

"Hermione, I really don't want to do this right now," Harry huffed.

"Well that's too bad, Harry, because we're doing it now. You cannot continue on like this," Hermione said, glaring. "I understand that things have been hard for you, but we are your friends, and it is not fair for you to treat us like this!"

"Hermione-"

"I'm talking, Harry," Hermione snapped.

Harry closed his mouth.

"You've been distant and moody ever since we got back here. You refuse to talk to us about it, and that's fine. We can't force you to. But it is not okay for you to yell at Ron when he just wants to help. We were in the war too, Harry. We have just as many decisions to make as you do."

Harry's eyes dropped to his lap and he felt extreme guilt wash over him. Hermione was right. He'd been acting like a right prat.

"And don't think I haven't noticed you watching Malfoy for the past few weeks. Leave him alone," Hermione said sternly.

"You're defending _Malfoy_?" Harry exclaimed.

Hermione propped her hands on her hips. "He hasn't done anything but study this year, which is more than I can say for you, Harry Potter. So don't you go picking a fight with him."

"I _wasn't_-"

Hermione held up a hand. "When you're ready to act like a decent person again, we'll be here, Harry." She gave him one last look and then left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Harry blinked, suddenly reminded of third year when Hermione had gone and punched Malfoy. He thought he'd gotten off rather lightly, all things considered.

* * *

Not two days after his outburst and Hermione's scolding, Hermes delivered a letter to him from Professor McGonagall at breakfast.

It was a summons to her office for a chat _at his earliest convenience. _He looked up after he'd read the note and found the Headmistress giving him a stern look. Harry nodded to her and showed up outside of her door that night after dinner.

McGonagall ushered him in and gestured to the chair on the other side of her desk. "I think it's past time we had a chat, Mr Potter," she said, peering at him over her glasses.

Harry sat, fidgeting under her gaze. "Er...alright. What about?"

"I believe you know. Your grades have been suffering of late, and Miss Granger informs me that you've been lashing out."

Harry huffed, just a little put out that Hermione had told on him. "I'm fine, Professor," he said to her. It was the same thing he had been telling people since May.

"You aren't," McGonagall said frankly. "And it's understandable. Your entire life led up to an event, and now that the event has passed, you're at loose ends."

Hearing someone else say nearly the exact thing that he had thought earlier in the year, unclenched something inside of Harry. He let out a shaky breath, looking around the office. It didn't look the same as when Dumbledore had inhabited it. Gone were the odds things that the man had collected, replaced with things that matched and seemed sensible. It was definitely McGonagall's office now. He looked back at the woman who had been his Head of House for years, and suddenly felt the need to tell her everything.

"I...you're right," he said. "You're right, and Hermione's right. I...don't have a direction anymore. I've, well, I've almost never had to make my own decisions, I've always known where my path was going to lead, but now I feel like I'm floating, just waiting for something to come along as push me to where I need to be. But it doesn't happen, and it puts me on edge. It's like...I dunno. Like I can't make myself care about classes anymore. Or my N.E. because I don't know what I want to do, or even if I need them. And everyone wants something from me, or expects me to do something, and I don't even know what I bloody want for myself yet."

Professor McGonagall listened as Harry talked, her face never losing the expression it usually held. When he stopped talking, she pushed her tin of biscuits towards him and sat back in her chair. "Anything else?"

Harry took a biscuit and bit into it with a frown. "No, I think that's it," he answered.

"Very well. Potter, what you seem to be missing is that for the first time in a very long time, your life is your own. This 'thing' that you're waiting for to come along and show you what to do. It's _you,_ Potter. You're the thing. _You_ have to take control of your life and push it to where you want it to be. It is not required that you listen to anyone else who wants you to do a specific thing. All the choices from this point on are yours."

It seemed so simple when it was put like that. In the back of his mind, he had always known that he could choose his own life now, the problem was that it was _scary, _uncharted territory. This was one of those times in his life where he rather thought it would be nice to have a parent.

McGonagall folded her hands atop her desk. "I thought it was your goal to become an Auror. Is that no longer the case?"

Harry shook his head. "I think I'm done fighting Dark wizards," he told her. "I've had enough."

A hint of a smile played around the headmistress' mouth. "Yes, that makes sense. And that's the only path you have ever considered?"

"I guess. I mean, I kind of didn't really expect the Voldemort thing to end so early in my life. I thought I'd be fighting him for a lot longer. I don't really know what else I'm good at."

"Potter, for what reason were you made the youngest Seeker in a century?" McGonagall asked, looking more than a little exasperated.

Harry frowned. "Er...because I'm a good Seeker?"

"You are an exceptional Seeker," the woman corrected, handing out a rare compliment. "If you wanted, I am sure any of England's teams would take you on."

"Because I'm Harry Potter."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "I'm sure some of them will want you for that reason, but consider this. Fame does not win games, Mr Potter. Your record is not what it is because you are the Boy Who Lived or any of the other titles that people have dubbed you. Talent is what they will really be looking for."

The Gryffindor was silent for a moment. This conversation had not gone anything like he'd expected it to. "I reckon I have a lot to think about," he said finally. Though it felt like he'd done nothing _but_ think for the past several weeks, things didn't seem quite as hopeless as they had before.

"I imagine you do. And, Potter, just because I am no longer your Head of House does not mean you cannot come to me when you need guidance."

Harry got to his feet, smiling sheepishly. "I've never been very good at asking for help."

"No, I suppose you haven't," the headmistress agreed. "Have a pleasant evening, Potter."

"You too, Professor."

* * *

The next day was a Saturday, and there was a Hogsmeade trip. Eighth years could go into the village whenever they wanted as long as they were back before eight, but most of them elected to wait and go when the rest of the upper years were allowed as well.

Harry decided to skip out on this one. There was nothing he really needed or wanted, and as he hadn't yet apologized to Ron and Hermione, and everyone else seemed to be avoiding him to prevent getting yelled at too, he didn't really want any awkward encounters.

He considered the large pile of homework that he had been putting off for much too long, swearing under his breath. He knew that he had to start somewhere, so he opened a book and got to work.

Four hours later, he had completed three assignments, and he thought he was going to go crazy if he had to read another word.

Harry gazed out the window, wanting to be outside. Suddenly he remembered McGonagall's words about being able to make his own choices. "Fuck it," he said to the empty room. "I'm going flying."

It was probably very cold outside, what with it being November and all, but Harry found he didn't care. he put on an extra jumper and his gloves and headed down to the pitch, excitement flowing through him for the first time in a while.

To Harry's surprise, once he'd gotten his broom and walked out onto the grass of the pitch, someone else had had the same idea. From the white blond hair whipping around the head of the person who was flying around the goal posts, that person was Malfoy.

Ever since his row with Hermione, Harry hadn't been paying that much attention to the Slytherin. His eyes still managed to find their way to him when they were in class or in the Great Hall, but he hadn't gone out of his way to look for him in a few days. From the ground, he studied Malfoy's form, noting that the blond did look good on a broom.

_Wait...what? _his brain demanded, running that last statement over again. Harry shook his head, chalked the whole thing up to stress, and mounted his broom, kicking off and shooting upwards. He was careful to stay on the other side of the pitch, climbing higher and higher, and watching his breath puff out around him. It felt good to be aloft, and soon he forgot all about how cold it was, even though his cheeks were numb. He practiced diving and feinting until his arse was sore and he realized that he was having a hard time feeling his fingers through the gloves.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but when he looked around, Malfoy was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

Harry stowed his broom in his locker and flexed fingers that were cramped with cold. He smiled, thinking of Quidditch games past, and mused that really, things never seemed that bad when he was in the air. This had been no exception. Perhaps Professor McGonagall had been onto something after all with her suggestion.

It was something Harry had never seriously considered, playing professional Quidditch, but maybe...maybe it would work out.

He jumped when he heard the sound of a locker slamming somewhere on the other side of the room near the showers, and frowned. He'd been so sure that Malfoy had gone back up to the castle, but unless someone else had been out flying, the Slytherin was just a few feet away.

Harry swallowed hard. For all the Malfoy watching he'd been doing lately, he hadn't gotten within five feet of the blond unless they were in class. They hadn't even spoken all year, and for all Malfoy seemed to have changed, Harry was sure that Malfoy's opinion of him was probably still pretty low.

He considered just leaving. Trying to sneak out as quietly as he could, but that option filled him with indignation. Why should he have to leave? He had as much right to be there as Malfoy did. If the Slytherin wanted to start something, then that was on him.

It was another few minutes before there was the sound of footsteps heading towards the door, and Harry knew that there was no way Malfoy could leave the locker room without seeing him.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, there was a gasp of fury and he looked over to see Malfoy glaring at him with flinty grey eyes, his wand clutched in his hand.

"What the fuck do you want?" Malfoy demanded.

Harry's fingers curled around his own wand, body tensing. "Nothing," he said.

The blond scoffed. "Right. Do I look like an idiot to you, Potter?"

"Right now? A little bit, yeah. You're standing there like you're waiting for an attack or something."

"Can you blame me?" Malfoy spat. "The last time you followed me around, you _did _attack me."

Harry felt as if the breath had been knocked from him in that moment. He _hated _thinking about what he'd done to Malfoy in sixth year. The slightly nauseous feeling was soon accompanied by a hot spike of anger.

"Fuck off, Malfoy. No one's following you around."

"Then what are you doing in here?"

"I was out flying! You _saw_ me!"

"Oh, and you just happened to be out at the same time I was? You were fucking following me. Admit it!"

Harry's fingers tightened on the smooth wood in his hand, the anger inside of him building. It had been a long time since he'd been involved in any sort of confrontation, and even longer since he'd had one with Malfoy. The prickling irritation felt familiar and somehow comforting. He hadn't even realised it, but Malfoy was a big part of his Hogwarts experience, and it had been missing of late.

"I've got better things to do than stalk you, Malfoy."

The Slytherin snorted in disbelief. "You never did before."

"You were always up to something before, you prick!" Without even thinking about it, Harry had taken a step closer.

Malfoy looked very much like he wanted to back up, but he set his jaw and held his ground. "I'm not even fucking doing anything!" he shouted. "You're always watching me. Why won't you leave me the fuck alone?" He raised his wand and opened his mouth, but that was as far as he got.

Before Harry knew what he was doing, he had lunged forward and slammed Malfoy up against the wall next to the door. "What the fuck is _wrong _with you?" he demanded.

"Get off of me!"

"Shut up! You're such a stubborn arse."

"Potter, I swear to all the gods I will hex you blind if you don't let me go," Malfoy snapped, struggling against the grip Harry had on his shoulders. He might have been taller than the Gryffindor, but Harry was stronger.

"Do it," Harry said, voice low and angry. "Do it. Hex me. I'm pretty sure that goes against your probation."

Malfoy's eyes burned and his nostrils flared. "I hate you," he muttered. "I hate you so much. Why won't you leave me alone?"

"I _was _leaving you alone!" Harry shouted. "You're the one who started making threats."

"You always think I'm up to something, and I haven't done _anything_ this year, and I _hate _you," Malfoy was saying, voice thick with rage and something else Harry couldn't identify.

The force of the word 'hate' from Malfoy's mouth made Harry pause. His anger fizzled out to nothing, and he blinked. Harry released his hold on the blond's shoulders, stepping back and looking at the floor. He took several deep breaths, and when he looked back up, Malfoy was still in the same spot. His eyes were bright with anger and just a glimmer of fear, and he was staring at Harry.

The Gryffindor lifted his glasses and rubbed at his face, raking his hands through his hair and letting out a messy exhalation. "Look, Malfoy," he began, voice soft. "I never thought you were up to anything. I haven't been following you either. I might have been...watching you, but that's it."

Malfoy pushed off from the wall, straightening his clothes with shaking fingers. "Why?" he asked after a moment.

"I don't even know. Would you believe it was for a lack of anything else to do?"

"No."

"It's just...you're different this year, and...I dunno," Harry finished lamely. Now that he didn't have his anger to propel him, he was floundering. He didn't know how Malfoy managed to make him feel like a child all over again.

Malfoy ran a hand through his hair, his stoic mask firmly back in place. "Well stop it," he said, and turned on his heel to leave.

"Malfoy!"

"What?" he snapped, not turning around.

"I'm sorry. For, you know, sixth year. The spell. I didn't know what it did."

A shudder racked Malfoy's lean frame, making Harry feel that twist of nausea again. "Now you do," the blond whispered, and stalked off.

* * *

After the confrontation with Malfoy, Harry trudged his way back up to the Gryffindor common room. Since it was a Hogsmeade Saturday, it was empty, except for a knot of second years who were playing Exploding Snap in the corner.

Harry sat down on the couch and put his head in his hands, grateful for the near solitude.

He sat like that for long minutes, replaying the exchange with Malfoy over and over again in his head. Each time he got to the part where the Slytherin said he hated him with such vehemence, a little knot of guilt and something else Harry didn't want to look too closely at tightened inside of him.

The sudden loud cheers from the kids in the corner broke Harry out of whatever trance he had been in, and he lifted his head with a frustrated groan. The portrait hole opened then, and Ginny stepped in. Her eyes landed on Harry, and she hesitated. They hadn't really spoken since their conversation by the lake, and if she'd heard about Harry's outburst, then it only made sense for her to be wary.

Harry gave her a small wave anyway, deciding that it was stupid of him not to, and Ginny returned it with a small smile, coming over to sit down next to him.

"You didn't go to Hogsmeade?" he asked her.

"I did," she replied. "Just came back early. Why didn't you go?"

Harry shrugged. "Didn't really feel like it. Figured I'd get some homework and flying in instead."

Ginny nodded. "That must have been nice. The flying, at least."

"It was. At least until I ran into Malfoy."

"Yeah? How did _that _go?"

Harry raked his hands through his hair. "He...he _hates _me, Gin," he murmured.

The girl frowned, tilting her head at Harry. "And _you_ hate him, right? Isn't that how it's always been?" It was clear that Ginny didn't understand why this was so distressing to Harry, which made sense because Harry didn't understand it either. He'd spent pretty much every moment at Hogwarts loathing Malfoy with a passion, so why did it hurt to hear it said aloud?

"Maybe...maybe I don't hate him anymore," Harry mused. "Maybe things changed after, hell, _during_, the war." Ginny just looked at him, so Harry continued, voice low. "He...Malfoy had the chance to turn us in at one point. We were at Malfoy Manor, and Bellatrix was all ready to call Voldemort and hand us over. My face was swollen from being hit by a spell, and they needed Malfoy to identify me. And he didn't."

"Maybe he didn't recognize you," Ginny offered softly.

"No, he did," Harry replied. "I could see it in his eyes. He knew it was me, and he didn't say anything."

"Then...he saved your life?"

"Pretty much."

"Wow."

"Yeah."

"But," Ginny continued, confused. "He still hates you."

"Apparently."

"And it bothers you."

"Yeah," Harry said again.

Ginny was quiet for a moment, plucking at a loose thread in the couch. "Do you think maybe it bothers you because you don't know _why_ he hates you?" she asked finally.

"I'm pretty sure I know why," Harry muttered, his mind flashing with the image of Malfoy lying on the bathroom floor, blood seeping into his clothes. The nausea threatened to overwhelm him, and he shoved the picture to the back of his mind.

"I'll admit that I don't get it," Ginny was saying, "but it seems like the only way you're going to get a real answer is to talk to Malfoy about it."

Harry groaned. "He won't talk to me."

Ginny shrugged. "Not if you don't try."

* * *

It was either a very good thing, or a very bad thing, that Harry was possessed of so many Gryffindor traits, and he supposed he was about to find out which was the case.

Ginny's words had stuck with him through the night, and after checking the map to make sure it was safe to do so, he'd gone up to the Astronomy Tower to think. The cold wind helped clear his head, even as it whipped his cloak around his body. He spent hours up there, weighing the pros and cons of what he was thinking of doing, until finally, just as the sky was beginning to turn the grey of pre-dawn, he'd decided to just go with it.

He tromped down to breakfast with everyone else, sitting between Dean and Neville, as he hadn't yet made his way to apologize to Hermione and Ron. _One thing at a time,_ he thought.

Hermes came swooping in with the rest of the morning's owls, dropping a copy of the Sunday _Prophet_ into Harry's lap and landing on the table to help himself to part of Harry's breakfast. Before he could think too much about it, he dug in his bag for a quill and a piece of parchment.

_Malfoy, _he scribbled quickly.

_Can we talk?_

_HP_

He folded up the note and held it out to Hermes. "To Malfoy, okay?" he said.

Both Dean and Neville turned to look at him with surprise, and even Hermes hesitated before taking the parchment and flying off across the Great Hall.

Several sets of eyes tracked the owl's progress, and the Hall went mostly silent as he landed in front of Malfoy and dropped the note into his lap.

Harry ducked his head quickly as Malfoy looked around, confused. He lifted his eyes in time to see the Slytherin opening the note, scowling, and scribbling something back.

_Well, at least he's answering, _Harry thought. He'd been half expecting Malfoy to incinerate the note once he'd read it.

Hermes flew back across to him, this time landing on his shoulder and cuffing his head with a wing. "Cut it out," Harry muttered to the bird, taking the offered parchment and reading.

_What could we possibly have to talk about?_

Harry bit his lip, thinking for a moment before replying.

_I want to ask you something. It's important to me._

Nearly everyone watched Hermes fly back to the Slytherin table, and Harry could see Professor McGonagall giving him a strange look from the staff table. He shrugged at her with a half smile, and she shook her head somewhat fondly.

Malfoy's reply was not what Harry had been expecting. He'd thought they would have had to argue a bit more.

_I could care less about what's important to you, Potter. But if you promise to bugger off afterwards, I'll talk to you. Where and when?_

Harry already knew the place.

_Astronomy Tower? Midnight? And before you accuse me of following you again, I go up there too sometimes, and I've seen you._

There was a longer pause between replies this time, and Hermes helped himself to the remnants of Malfoy's breakfast while the blond chewed on his lower lip. Finally he wrote something and shooed the owl away, giving Harry an unreadable look. Before Hermes had made it back to the Gryffindor table, Malfoy was leaving.

Harry watched him for a moment before taking the note and reading.

_Fine._

* * *

For once in his Hogwarts experience, Harry was glad that he had a lot to do. He figured that if he just sat around doing nothing all day, waiting for it to be midnight, he would go mad. With the Malfoy thing on its way to being taken care of, Harry decided he could no longer put off apologizing to Hermione and Ron.

Sundays meant homework, and with Neville, Dean, and Seamus all sitting in the common room, Harry assumed Ron, and probably Hermione, were up in the dorm. He only hoped they were in a forgiving mood. And not snogging.

When he walked in, his two best friends were sitting at opposite ends of Ron's bed. Each had papers and books spread around them, although Harry was pretty sure that Ron was doodling on the parchment in his lap while Hermione's nose was buried in a book.

Harry cleared his throat, and they both looked up at him. Ron's gaze was wary, and Hermione's challenging. Still, they both looked open, and Harry was suddenly reminded how very fiercely he loved the two of them.

"Er...hi," he began awkwardly.

"Hello," Hermione replied cooly, one hand coming to rest on one of Ron's knees.

"I...er..." Harry scratched at the back of his head, unsure how to proceed. He wanted to say the right thing, to convey that he was sorry and that he knew he had been wrong. Suddenly he realized that he was overthinking it, and that things had never been overly complicated with Ron and Hermione. They were his friends. They had been with him through everything just about, and there was no reason why he couldn't just say what he was feeling without trying to make it sound fancy.

He swallowed and started again. "I'm really sorry," he said sincerely. "I've been a right berk these last few weeks. I shouldn't have yelled at you, Ron, because you were just trying to help. And I'm sorry I haven't been listening to you, Hermione. I was...I dunno. I was lost for a while. Still am, I reckon, but it isn't your fault." He stopped there, worrying at his lower lip and waiting for them to say something.

Ron spoke first. "It's alright, mate. It's not like you meant to be an arse." He smiled at Harry.

"I really didn't." Harry looked at Hermione who was eying him with a small smile.

"You're forgiven, Harry," she said. "We forgave you ages ago, but I wanted you to learn something from this."

"Of course you did. I can't believe you ratted me out to McGonagall, though."

Hermione's cheeks went pink, but she didn't look away. "It helped, didn't it?"

Harry rolled his eyes, but nodded. "Yeah. It did."

"Well there you go. Now are you going to sit down and study with us, or are you going to stand in the doorway all afternoon?"

Harry and Ron both laughed, and the former walked in and plopped down on his own bed, digging out his school things.

The three of them worked in a comfortable silence until Ron threw down his quill and turned to look at Harry. "Okay, I have to ask. What the hell was that thing with Malfoy this morning?"

"How long have you been waiting to ask _that_?" Harry inquired with a grin.

"Since this morning. Mione said I had to wait until you apologized though."

Hermione pursed her lips and gave her boyfriend a stern look, suddenly reminding Harry very vividly of their headmistress. He stretched his arms over his head and began to tell them both about his encounter with Malfoy the day before.

* * *

By the time eleven o'clock rolled around, Harry couldn't sit still any longer. At least not inside. He packed his bag with his remaining work, grabbed his Invisibility Cloak and his wand, and headed for the Astronomy Tower.

He wasn't even surprised to find Malfoy already there.

Harry slid the Invisibility Cloak off and cast a Warming Charm as Malfoy whirled to glare at him. "I thought you said midnight," he snapped.

"I did," Harry agreed. "I was just getting tired of being inside. I didn't know you were already going to be here."

"I come here sometimes."

"I know."

"Not to do anything illegal."

"I know, Malfoy. I thought we'd been over that already."

Malfoy folded his arms. "Just so we're clear."

"We are," Harry assured him.

They stood there for a long minutes, regarding each other silently. Harry could see defensiveness and what he thought might be curiosity in Malfoy's gaze. Finally, the blond huffed. "I thought you wanted to talk."

"I do."

"Then talk, Potter. Some of us have better things to do than stand around all night."

"Do you?" Harry asked before he could stop himself.

Grey eyes narrowed. "What is _that _supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, sorry," Harry said quickly. "Look, it's just..." he cast around, trying to find some way to say what he wanted to say before deciding to just blurt it out. "In the locker rooms you said you hate me."

Malfoy frowned, tilting his head. "I did," he agreed. "So what?"

"So...I guess...I was just wondering why."

"Why I hate you?" the Slytherin clarified.

"Er...yeah."

"You know why I hate you, Potter, and if that's the only reason you dragged me up here, I'll be leaving now," Malfoy said, walking past Harry.

Harry sighed, frustration welling up inside of him. His hand shot out and grabbed one of Malfoy's arms to keep him from leaving. For a second or two, neither of them moved, both staring transfixed at Harry's fingers wrapped around Malfoy's arm.

Harry swallowed hard, and the spell was broken, causing the Slytherin to jerk his arm from Harry's grip. "Malfoy..." Harry said softly. "Draco, please. Will you just talk to me?"

Malfoy stiffened at the use of his first name, leveling a glare at Harry. "Fine," he snapped. "But don't call me Draco. My friends call me Draco, and _we_," he gestured between them. "are not friends."

"Why?"

The blond shot him an incredulous look. "What do you mean, why? _You _didn't _want_to be my friend, remember?"

"Well you were a prat back then."

"Oh, and suddenly I'm good enough to be the great Harry Potter's friend?" Malfoy returned acidly.

Harry flinched. "Don't call me that. Just...I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry that I never gave you another chance and for everything else too."

The confusion was edging out the defensiveness in Malfoy's eyes, and he stared at Harry. "Why on earth would you have given me another chance?" he asked. "I know who I was then, Potter. I just don't see how I've suddenly become so interesting to you if you don't think I'm up to something nefarious."

"I told you," Harry said. "You're different this year."

Malfoy frowned, looked intently at Harry, as if trying to find some hidden plot or ulterior motive, but then he sighed, sliding a hand through his hair. "You want to know why I said I hated you in the locker room?" he said finally. "It was because I thought that after everything that had happened, after I saved you, and you saved me _and _kept me out of Azkaban, that after all of that you still thought I was the same old Malfoy."

"Oh. So, it wasn't about the Sectumsempra thing, then?"

Malfoy huffed. "No, Potter. As much as that hurt, and as stupid as you were for trying a spell you that didn't know the effects of, I didn't hate you for it. I deserved it."

The nausea was back, but Harry ignored it. This was important. "No, you didn't. No one deserves that, Malfoy."

"I tried to _Crucio _you."

"So?"

"_So_, I don't know if it's slipped your mind, small as it is, but that's an Unforgivable Curse."

Harry shrugged. "I'm not holding it against you, Malfoy. We've both done some shitty things to each other over the years, but...don't you think it's time we got over all that? The world is changing now. Shouldn't we change with it?"

Malfoy blinked, looking frustrated. "I don't get you, Potter," he said. "But then, I suppose I never have."

Harry shrugged again. "I'm not all that hard to figure out, really. Once you get to know me, at least." There was no mistaking the hopeful tone in his voice, and for the first time since this conversation had started, Harry wondered what he was _actually _hoping to gain here.

Silence reigned over the tower once again as Malfoy seemed to be thinking. Harry couldn't help but notice that the blond chewed his lower lip when in deep thought the same way he did.

"Fine," the Slytherin said after a minute or so, startling Harry back into meeting his eyes. "I suppose you want us to be friends now or something?"

Harry grinned, holding out his hand to Malfoy. "If it happens. I'd settle for acquaintances who don't want to kill each other."

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but shook the offered hand, and Harry was sure that he could see the hint of a smile in there somewhere. The significance of the moment was not lost on Harry. He couldn't say for sure what it meant to Malfoy, but for him, who had only seen the end of the war as just that, an _end, _this felt suspiciously like a beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

Winter had well and truly settled over Hogwarts, and Draco Malfoy didn't know how to feel about that. On the one hand, it meant that the Christmas hols were quickly approaching, and he had always enjoyed Christmas. On the other hand, it was cold, especially in the dungeons, and he wasn't going home for the break anyway.

His mother had asked him to, but the last thing Draco wanted to do was return to the Manor. He didn't even see how his mother could stand to live there after all that had happened. No, he was better off staying at Hogwarts. All of his friends were going to their respective homes, so he was likely going be fairly alone for the hols. That suited Draco fine. He often chose to be alone anyway.

His train of thought was broken as someone plopped down into the chair across from him. He was in the library, working on one of the last big assignments of the term, and he didn't even have to look up to know who had joined him.

"You're late," Draco drawled, eyes never leaving his book. "We said seven."

Potter groaned and rolled his eyes, unpacking his bag. "_You _said seven," he corrected. "You _also _said you could care less if I showed up or not. Besides it's only," here he checked his watch. "Twelve after."

"Still late," Draco returned, raising his eyebrow as if daring the Gryffindor to argue.

Potter just chuckled and unrolled his parchment. "Fine, whatever. It won't happen again, Draco."

The git had been doing that a lot as of late, calling him by his given name. They weren't exactly friends yet, but ever since early November when he and Potter had come to their agreement at the top of the Astronomy Tower, the hostility had vanished. Potter was always inviting him to do something or other, and even though Draco refused nearly every time, he could feel his resistance wavering. He didn't know why Potter was so determined to make nice with him, but Draco was becoming used to it and to Potter.

Blaise and Pansy thought that he was having some sort of after the war crisis and warned him that being friends with a Gryffindor was only a little less shameful than being one. Theo thought that it was fine if Draco wanted to be friends with Potter, but then, he'd never really had a problem with the other Houses. Greg had just grunted and told Draco to let him know if he needed Potter removed.

Draco didn't know what Potter's friends thought about the whole thing, but sometimes he caught Weasley staring at him with a petulant expression. Granger usually scolded him for it before offering Draco a weak smile.

Finally looking up from the book, and chewing on the end of his quill, Draco took in the boy sitting across from him. Potter certainly didn't _look_like a war hero. His hair was the same unruly mess that it had been probably since he was born. It was a bit longer now, curling over Potter's collar, and hiding the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. He was short and still fairly skinny, although he had added some lean muscle to his frame.

As Draco watched, Potter chewed on his lip and began to scribble on the parchment in front of him. His handwriting was a messy scrawl, and he paused after every few lines to mutter to himself and scan the textbook in front of him.

Without warning green eyes lifted and met Draco's. "What?" Potter asked.

Draco scowled and went back to writing his own essay. "Nothing," he snapped. "Stop talking to yourself. It's distracting."

"Oh. Sorry. I'll try to stop."

Draco shoved an errant lock of hair behind his ear and forced himself to focus. He was not going to let Potter get to him.

An hour passed quickly, the quiet of their corner of the library only broken by the scratching of their quills. Draco put his quill down and stretched, shaking out his fingers, and blowing his fringe out of his eyes.

Potter looked up then, dropping his own quill and leaning back in his chair. "Draco?" he asked suddenly.

"What?" Draco answered a bit warily.

"Are you going home for Christmas?"

The blond hesitated, considering telling Potter to shove off and mind his own business. Instead he sighed and answered. "No, I don't think I am." He was fully prepared for Potter to ask why and offer some sort of pity speech, but he just nodded.

"Oh, okay. Only, I'm staying here too, and I wondered if you wanted to do something."

Draco frowned. "Why are _you_staying?" he wanted to know. "Isn't there a hoard of Weasleys for you to go home to?"

Potter shrugged. "I guess. I just...kind of don't want to deal with it right now. They'll want to know what happened with me and Ginny and...I dunno. It'll be kind of smothering."

"What _did _happen with you and girl Weasley?" Draco asked before he could stop himself. He hadn't heard anything about them breaking up officially, but it was obvious that they had. The two of them seemed friendly, but the female Weasley was much friendlier with Longbottom these days.

The Gryffindor gave him a flat look and pushed up his glasses to rub at his face. "We...she...it just didn't feel right anymore, okay? I don't want the same things I wanted before the war, and I guess Ginny was one of those things that I had to let go of."

"Oh. Couldn't you just tell the Weasleys that?"

"I guess, but I'm trying to make my own decisions and stand by them, and I know they would try to change my mind. So I'm staying here."

"And you want to do something with me since all of your friends are leaving?" Draco asked dryly.

Potter grinned. "Not _all _of my friends, Draco," he said, giving the blond a pointed look.

"We aren't friends, Potter. I don't know how to get that through to your tiny brain."

Potter just snorted, rolling his eyes and going back to his essay.

* * *

December flew by in a rush of quizzes, essays, and the occasional snowball fight. Before anyone was quite prepared, Christmas break was upon them, and Draco sat on his bed watching Blaise and Greg pack frantically.

Theo sat on his own bed, shaking his head at his dorm mates. "I still don't understand why you two didn't do that earlier," he said.

Greg shrugged, looking at a pile of school books that were stacked on his bedside table. He considered them for a moment and then shrugged again, slamming the lid of his trunk shut. "I didn't feel like it earlier," he answered.

"And I was busy," Blaise chimed in, using his wand to quickly fold a few jumpers.

"Yes, busy in Pansy's knickers," Draco murmured with an arched eyebrow.

"We had to say goodbye," Blaise protested. "And besides, I'm comforting her since you broke her heart."

Theo snorted and Draco scowled. "Pansy hasn't been interested in me since fifth year, Blaise," he snapped. "You can't continue to use that as an excuse."

"But it works so well. Anyway, I think it was _you_who lost interest in her, remember? When you discovered you liked blokes?"

Draco rolled his eyes and waved the comment away. "Just be careful, Zabini. If you get dear Pans pregnant with all your 'comforting' Mother Parkinson will make you marry her."

"It's true, you know," Theo agreed. "I think you'd look nice with a wife and child, Blaise."

"Both of you can fuck right off," Blaise retorted.

"What _are _you doing in here?"

Draco turned his head to see Pansy standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. "Good morning, Pans," he said.

She just arched an eyebrow at him and turned back to Blaise. "Why aren't you finished with that? The train is leaving in less than half an hour."

"I'm working on it," Blaise said, adding books to his trunk.

"Work faster." Pansy huffed and then looked at Draco. "Are you sure you want to stay here, Draco?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I've told you that."

"But no one is staying here over Christmas hols. It'll just be you and probably a few Hufflepuffs."

Draco chuckled. "And Potter."

"He hardly counts." The girl gave him a worried look. "You _will_be alright, won't you?"

"Yes, Pansy. I'll be fine. Go home. Fuck Blaise. Have a happy Christmas, and stop worrying about me."

"Ah Draco, the ever so proper heir to the Malfoy name," Blaise drawled, closing his trunk finally, and lightening it with a quick charm. "Alright, let's go."

Draco went with his friends to watch them board the train, waving as the Hogwarts Express pulled off. He shoved his hands into his pockets and moved to head back up to the school. In front of him was a cluster of Hufflepuffs and a few Ravenclaws who had elected to stay behind as well, and a little further to his left was Potter.

Of course.

The Gryffindor wasn't paying attention to his surroundings, walking with his head down. Draco smirked and decided to take advantage of the moment. He leaned down and scooped up a handful of snow, forming it into a perfect ball before letting it fly at the side of Potter's head.

His aim was excellent, and the snowball collided with Potter's head, exploding and showering him with snow. He turned to glare, but his expression cleared when he saw Draco smirking at him.

"You're a git," Potter said as he walked over to him.

Draco shrugged. "You already knew that. Still want to be my _friend_?"

"Yep. Your lot gone then?"

"There _is _only one train, Potter, and they all got on it."

Potter gave him a flat look. "It's hard for you to just answer a question without sarcasm, isn't it?"

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Draco asked with faux innocence. He glowered when Potter punched him in the arm. "Behave, you brute."

"_You _behave," Potter returned with a smirk. "Doing anything after dinner tonight?"

Draco wasn't, but he also wasn't quite ready to start spending all of his time with Potter either. "I have some things I need to get done, yes," he said. "But I imagine I'll see you sometime before the break is over."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Sure thing, Draco," he said.

* * *

Draco wasn't quite sure why he felt the need to avoid Potter, but he managed to make it three whole days without seeing him. To keep from feeling _too _pathetic, he made himself busy. He employed his owl and a few of the school's to send his Christmas gifts to his mother and his friends, he organized his belongings and got ahead on some reading for classes, and he even managed to catch up on the sleep that he had been missing out on during the term.

Still, by the time Christmas Eve rolled around, he was out of things to do, and a little starved for human interaction. Malfoys didn't succumb to these things, though, so Draco just put himself to bed early that night, deciding that he would talk to Potter at the Christmas meal the next day.

His subconscious, however, was not so accommodating.

Draco dreamed of the the Christmas prior to this one. It had been spent at the Manor, under the tyranny of Lord Voldemort. He tossed and turned in his bed, dreaming of the bastard's cruel laugh.

_Ah, it's Christmas, my loyal friends. This occasion calls for gifts, don't you think? Gifts for me, of course. _

And what had the great fuck wanted? To _Crucio _each and every one of them for thirty seconds while everyone watched.

He could remember the pain burning through him like the worst kind of fire. He couldn't move, couldn't fight back. He could only scream. And then, while he was panting and trying to recover himself, it had been his mother's turn, and he'd felt every second of her torture like it was his own.

Draco awoke, jaw clenched tightly so he wouldn't scream. He wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction. Sweat was pouring off of him, and his heart was beating rapidly. He dragged in a ragged breath, pushing damp hair from him face and looking around the dorm, assuring himself that he was safe.

He fished his wand out from under his pillow to cast a time charm. It was only a little after midnight, and therefore officially Christmas. There was no way he was going back to sleep, so he slid out from under his blankets and got dressed, putting on trousers, a thick jumper, and a heavy cloak before wrapping his scarf around his neck. He needed some air.

The way to the Astronomy Tower was well worn in his mind, and Draco thought that he would have been able to find his way there with his eyes closed. What he wasn't used to seeing was Potter leaning in the spot that _he _usually occupied.

But there he was, wrapped in a thick cloak of his own and staring out over the snow covered grounds. Draco considered leaving, but then decided that Potter's company was preferable to going back to face his memories alone.

"You may as well come on over, Draco," Potter said, his voice cutting through the silence.

Draco walked over to lean on the low wall next to the Gryffindor. "How did you know it was me?" he asked, leaning closer when he realized that Potter had had the forethought to cast a Warming Charm.

A small smile tugged at Potter's lips. "I've learned to be able to tell when someone's behind me," he replied. "And you're the only other person who ever comes up here." He paused for a moment, and then turned his head to look at Draco. "Why _do _you come up here?"

Well wasn't _that_a loaded question? To be honest, Draco didn't even really know. He was just drawn to the place ever since he'd come back that year. Potter seemed to be able to read this from his facial expression because he did smile then.

"Yeah, I guess it's the same for me," he said. "I was up here that night, you know. I saw what happened."

Somehow that didn't surprise Draco. Potter was always there to witness his worst moments. "Can we not talk about that?" he asked. The last thing he wanted to was to revisit that memory right then.

"Sure," Potter agreed. "Are you alright?" He winced and then rushed on. "Only it's...you look kind of...I dunno. Frazzled."

Draco snorted. "Ever the wordsmith." He sighed and ran cold fingers through his hair. "I'm upset. I think Christmas has been ruined for me."

"Oh. I'm guessing last year's wasn't very merry?"

"_That_would be an understatement."

"I get that. Mine wasn't all that great either. Bloody terrifying actually. Well I guess technically it was Christmas Eve, but it sort of buggered up the whole holiday."

"Wars have a habit of doing that," Draco murmured.

"Yeah."

The two of them stood in silence for a while after that. Each lost in their own thoughts as time passed. Finally Potter let out a long sigh and looked at Draco again. "I have an idea," he said.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "A Gryffindor idea, or a good idea?"

"What's the difference?"

"Gryffindor ideas usually involve danger and the possibility of losing a limb."

Potter snorted. "Not always, you twat. But I promise you won't lose any limbs. I've got a bottle of Firewhiskey, and if neither of us are sleeping..." he trailed off.

"You want to get _drunk_?"

"What's wrong, Malfoy? Can't hold your liquor?"

Draco glared at him. Potter's strategy was obvious, and even more irritating, it was working. Also he found that his surname sounded...wrong somehow coming from Potter. What was the world coming to?

"Fine. But we're doing it in the dungeons."

* * *

They did not, in fact, go to the dungeons.

Potter reasoned that it was likely to be 'bloody freezing' down in the bowels of the castle, and whinged about it until Draco had given in and agreed to go to Gryffindor Tower with him. Potter had led him into the common room and then dashed up the stairs to retrieve the alcohol.

Draco had sneered upon his return, looking around the room with distaste. "Is there really a call for all this red?"

"Is there really a call for all that snobbery?" Potter had fired back, plopping down in front of the fire and conjuring two glasses. "Are you just going to stand there being a prat all night?"

Draco replied with a rude hand gesture, but folded himself gracefully in front of the fire, taking off his cloak and scarf and putting them on the couch.

"Why do you even have this?" he wanted to know.

"The Firewhiskey? Early Christmas gift from Seamus. He thought it would keep me entertained and...how did he put it? Oh, and help me 'entertain any ladies that might want to make my Christmas bright.'"

Draco snorted. "Was he aware that the only girls left are all in fifth year or under?"

Potter shrugged. "Probably not." He opened the bottle and poured two generous measures of the whiskey into each glass. He handed one to Draco and raised his own. "To a happy Christmas."

"Or at the very least, a better one that the last," Draco added, touching his glass to Potter's. He downed most of the alcohol in two quick gulps, barely wincing as the liquid burned its way down his throat. "I must admit that I never thought I would be spending a Christmas like this."

Potter smiled, draining his own glass. "But it's not so bad, right?"

"It could be worse, I suppose."

"I'll take that."

Potter poured more alcohol, and they drank in comfortable silence for a bit. The Firewhiskey was definitely loosening Draco up, chasing away the lingering tension from his dream and warming his insides.

He looked over at Potter, watching the way the Gryffindor tapped his fingers against the side of his glass as he stared into the flames. He wasn't so bad, Potter, Draco thought. He was loyal and had even been known to be funny from time to time. Not hard on the eyes either.

Draco blinked, and knew that that thought was fueled by the alcohol. _Still true, though, _his brain put in, and Draco frowned.

"Draco?" Potter asked suddenly. "Let me ask you a question."

"Fine."

"Why don't you want to be my friend?"

Draco tipped his head back and let out a long breath. "Why does it matter?"

"Because...well...sometimes it seems like we're friends already, but you always say we're not. And you still call me Potter."

"What else would I call you?"

"I have a name, you know!"

"Yes. It's Potter."

"You're such a fucking git," Potter grumbled. "And stop avoiding the question."

"Let me ask _you _a question, Potter," Draco countered. "If I'm such a fucking git, _why_do you want to be my friend?"

Potter went quiet for a moment, clearly searching for the right words. Finally, he just shrugged. "That's just you," he answered. "And you're not always. Plus...you get it, you know?"

"Misery loves company," Draco said, lifting his glass.

"No. No, that's not what I meant," Potter argued. "I meant that...fuck, I'm not good at this. I meant that I don't feel like I have to pretend to be okay around you. Because you know how it feels to not be okay."

Draco could understand that. Often he felt like he couldn't talk to his friends because they didn't understand how he felt. Of course they offered their advice and tried to be there for him, but it didn't really help. With Potter, Draco didn't even have to explain how he felt. Potter just got it.

"Your other friends don't like me," he said softly.

Potter frowned. "They don't _not _like you. They just don't know you as anything other than the prat you've been to them. And anyway, I'm not asking you to be _their _friend."

"So I can just be your friend without having to fraternize with your merry band?"

The Gryffindor chuckled, refilling his glass and offering the bottle to Draco. "Yes, Draco. I'm sure your friends don't like me much either."

"You're right. Well, actually, I think Theo and Greg are pretty indifferent to you."

"I can work with that," Potter said with a smile. "After all, you used to hate me. Now look at us." He indicated their proximity.

"Don't let it go to your head."

* * *

A clock somewhere stuck three in the morning, and Potter and Draco were still in front of the fire. There was considerably less alcohol in the bottle, and they were both feeling the effects. Potter had moved so he was leaning against the couch, his hair an even bigger mess than usual because he couldn't seem to keep his hands out of it.

Draco was feeling warm and relaxed. He blew his fringe out of his face and, quite without thinking, rolled the sleeves of his jumper up.

The movement caught Potter's eye, and he turned to look at Draco's exposed forearms. Well, at one of them anyway.

Draco followed Potter's eyes, and his blood went cold. He never showed the Mark if he could help it. No one wanted to see it, and he didn't want to be associated with it anymore. Unfortunately, the bloody thing was permanent.

He went to roll his sleeve back down, but Potter reached out and put a hand on his arm, eyes intent. "What are you doing?" Draco asked, voice hushed.

"Just..." Potter trailed off, scooting closer to Draco and chewing on his lip. He slid his fingers down the pale skin and traced the Mark gently.

Draco held his breath, not sure what to do. His instincts were telling him to jerk his arm back and go back to the dungeons where he belonged, but he couldn't quite move. His heart was racing again, and Potter's fingers were lighting trails of electricity over his skin.

Potter raised his eyes, and Draco found himself caught in that emerald stare. "You never show it," the Gryffindor whispered.

Draco tore his eyes away, but left his arm where it was. "You know perfectly well why that is."

"Yeah."

Suddenly it was all too much. The alcohol, the fire, his nightmare, Potter's hand on him. He didn't know what he was feeling, but it suddenly didn't matter. He gripped Potter's wrist and yanked him forward, pressing their lips together.

Potter froze for just a second, his body stiff against Draco's. Then a little whimper broke from him, and he pressed closer, gripping Draco's wrist in turn and kissing him back. Draco let his free hand slip into Potter's hair, the small part of his brain _not _focused on kissing taking note that Potter's hair was much softer than it looked.

Potter tasted like Firewhiskey, and he kissed like he did everything else. It was a little clumsy, but not lacking in determination. Their lips moved together, staying closed for the time being, but that was enough.

Draco lost track of how long the kiss lasted, but soon he needed to break for air. He sat back, still holding Potter—oh fuck it, he might as well be Harry now—Harry's wrist, chest heaving as he swallowed hard. "I'm...I'm not sure why I did that," he whispered.

"Are you going to do it again?" Harry asked, breathlessly.

"Do you...do you want me to?"

"I think I do."

Draco met his eyes and saw confusion and hesitation, but also something like want, and it made him blush lightly. "I'll consider it then," he said flippantly.

Harry grinned and yawned.

"It's late," Draco said, yawning himself.

"I think we've passed late and crossed right on over to early," Harry said back.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, either way, I should go." He released Harry's wrist and tried to pull his own back, but Harry held on tight.

"You'll be okay?"

"Yes, Potter," the blond responded. "I will be fine. I'll see you tomorrow— Merlin, later today, I suppose— at the feast." He gathered his things and headed back down to the dungeons, head spinning.

* * *

When Draco awoke, it was after noon, and his head was surprisingly clear. He'd not drunk enough to be hung over, and he had an unhindered memory of the night before.

He let out a shaky breath and touched his fingers to his lips, thinking of the kiss he'd shared with Harry. It was chaste compared to some of the kisses Draco had had before, but it stayed with him. He could even remember the way Harry's fingers had felt, running over the skin of his forearm. There hadn't been any revulsion in those green eyes, just curiosity and acceptance.

Of course, all of that could have been caused by the Firewhiskey, but somehow Draco didn't think that was the case.

He shook his head, not ready to think about that just yet. Instead, he turned his attention to the pile of gifts at the foot of his bed.

The first was a thick, book-shaped package from his mother. He opened it to find a journal, bound in dark leather. When he touched it, there was a spark of magic, and Draco furrowed his brow. There was an inscription inside, written in his mother's elegant script.

_Draco,_

_This journal is spelled to open only to your magical signature and to appear blank to anyone you don't want to see what you've written. Even me, if such is the case._

_Never feel that your words, your thoughts, your dreams aren't safe._

_Mother_

Draco had to swallow the lump that rose in his throat then. His did miss his mother. He traced his fingers over the words and then closed the journal, placing it on the bedside table.

The other packages were from Blaise, Pansy, Theo, Greg, and to his surprise, his Aunt Andromeda. They contained chocolates, a black wool scarf, a light blue cashmere jumper with a note from Pansy about how it would 'make his eyes pop', a book on catalysts in Potions, and a rather good bottle of Elvish wine.

Not a bad haul, and certainly better than the year before.

He whiled away the hours before Christmas dinner eating chocolate and reading his new book. This solitude wasn't as oppressive as the solitude he'd experienced before his drunken night/morning with Potter.

He was deliberately not thinking about what Potter might be thinking up in his tower because that train of thought led nowhere good. Luckily, the chocolate was excellent and the book was interesting, so he was content.

Soon enough though, it was time to get dressed for dinner. Draco put on the new jumper and dark trousers, forgoing his robes. He brushed his hair and noted that yes, the jumper did make his eyes stand out. He would have to remember to thank Pansy.

Taking a deep breath, and telling himself that he could handle whatever happened with Potter, he joined the younger Slytherins as they headed down to the Great Hall.

McGonagall was at the head of the table, with various students and professors spread out along the sides. Harry was already there, talking to a Ravenclaw that Draco didn't recognize, wearing what appeared to be a hand knitted jumper in a very bright scarlet. A Weasley gift, no doubt.

The spot next to Harry was open, and Draco dithered for a second over whether or not to take it. He berated himself internally then. He could sit next to Harry if he wanted to. It didn't have to _mean_anything.

He slid into the spot, returning the cordial nod that the headmistress sent his way, and bit his lip, waiting for Harry to acknowledge him.

It didn't take long.

Harry turned to him with a cautious smile, eyes widening a bit. "Hi," he said. "That's a nice jumper."

"Christmas gift," Draco replied. "I'd compliment yours, but..." he trailed off, leaving Harry to fill in the blank.

The Gryffindor kicked him under the table. "Shut up," he returned, trying to look scolding, but failing to hide the smile that twitched at his lips. "Did you...er...get to sleep alright? When you left?"

Draco nodded. "Yes. I think I was too tipsy to have any more bad dreams."

"Good. Draco, are we going to-" Harry was cut off by McGonagall clapping her hands and starting the meal officially.

Draco accepted a dish of roasted potatoes that was passed his way and added some to his plate before handing it to Harry. Dishes made their way around the table, effectively ensuring that there was going to be no conversation for a while. As he ladled gravy onto his roast, Draco thought that perhaps that was a good thing.

Suddenly something warm and solid pressed against his thigh, startling him. He looked at Harry, but the other young man was staring down at his plate, pushing peas into a puddle of gravy. Draco continued to stare, until he was rewarded by a small smile curling Harry's lips and the warmth pressing closer.

Draco paused, thinking that now would be the time to end all of this foolishness if he were going to. But somehow...that was the less appealing option. With his face set in a calm, uninterested mask, he speared a potato on his fork, and pressed his thigh back against Harry's. When Harry turned to look at him, Draco gave him an almost shy smile, biting into the potato and hooking his ankle around the Gryffindor's.

Decision made.


End file.
